


Ornithology

by blackberrychai



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Grief/Mourning, Inspired by Poetry, Introspection, M/M, just me getting wanky about poetry again sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26952910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberrychai/pseuds/blackberrychai
Summary: On the anniversary of Rodrigue’s death, Dimitri finds himself drawn, inexorably, back to Fraldarius.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	Ornithology

**Author's Note:**

> The bits of poem in this are all taken from the second section of Carl Phillips's _From the Devotions_. I've been prodding at this for ages now and still don't feel satisfied, but I decided to get it out of my system and just post it so... here you go?
> 
> Thanks to Twix for looking this over for me!

> Not, despite what you believed, that  
>  _all travel necessarily ends here, at the sea._
> 
> I am back but only because.  
> as the sun only happens to meet the water
> 
> in such a way that the water becomes  
> a kind of cuirass: how each piece takes
> 
> and, for nothing, gives back whatever light—  
> sun’s, moon’s.

The water looked calm here, though Dimitri knew it was an illusion.

A sheltered bay was of course essential to any coastal town. Fraldarius was built on the riches of the sea as much as anything else, and this harbour was at the core of it: a deep cut in the coastline, hills crowded protectively around it. The headland protected it from the worst of the winds that blew in from the east, and the town had grown prosperous, nestled comfortably into its side. Sunrise helped the impression of calm, too—painting everything in unearthly colours, gentling the lines of the rocks, making the cries of the gulls seem distant, unimportant.

The bay was not what he was here for, though, and he turned away from the soothing water and made for the path up the hill of the headland. It had taken a hard night of riding to bring him here this early in the morning, but something had… pulled him, he supposed. He had duties, of course, and Fhirdiad was always busy, but still. He was here. It was worth it for the view as he climbed, if nothing else. Below, like a silent pantomime, he could see the harbour coming awake, fishermen emerging, boats sailing out, everyday drudgery beginning again. But up here, there was a freshness to the grey light, and the rough path to the crest of the hill was surrounded by wildflowers. They bloomed late here in Faerghus, but even so spring had well and truly set in.

Dimitri turned away from the dawn and the sea and pushed on. Reaching the crest of the ridge, the wind hit him again, hard and sharp. It cut through his travelling clothes, and he gathered his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. The wind tugged at it, attempting to rip it out of his grasp, until he gave up and let it billow out behind him.

He hurried on to offset the chill, and walked briskly out to the very edge of the promontory. The trees were sparse up here, bent over to lean away from the sea after years of the wind’s press at their backs. They were twisted, hunched over and in on themselves, and their new leaves grew only on the side away from the sea. The whole of Fraldarius was like that: everything grew on the side away from the sea, trying desperately to protect itself.

Beyond the trees, at the very edge of the cliffs, he could just make out a figure, arms curled around their knees.

“Your majesty,” the steward of Castle Fraldarius had greeted him, his bow deep and expression twisted in concern. “I am so sorry, we did not know you were coming.”

Dimitri had plastered his best smile onto his face, and handed the reins of his horse off to the stable boy who rushed up beside him. “No, no, I should have sent word ahead,” he told the steward.

“We can have rooms prepared for you in just a moment—” he had continued, but Dimitri waved him into silence.

“It’s quite all right. There is no rush.” He sighed, and surveyed the courtyard. His question caught at his throat. “Where is— I mean, is—”

“His Grace left on foot early this morning,” the steward said, frowning. “I—I’m afraid I do not know where he went.”

With a forced smile, Dimitri pushed his hair out of his face, still dishevelled from the ride. “It’s all right. I believe I know.”

> A bird that is not a gull
> 
> passes over; I mark what you would: underneath,  
> at the tip of either wing, a fluorescent-white
> 
> moon, or round star. Does the bird itself  
> ever see this?

Felix was sat among flowers on the furthest edge of the headland. Out here, only those that lay close to the ground survived, brief flashes of heathery colour in rough grass and sandy earth. They clung desperately to the edges of these cliffs, twisting their roots together and hoping the next storm would not be the one that pushed them out, down, into the sea.

His dark hair blew in the wind, strands flying in his face without it twisted firmly back as he usually keeps it. Dimitri knows he hates it tangling loose around his neck like this, but it matches the sharp beauty of the distant waves in the bay, both flowing like creased silk. He did his best to approach quietly, to keep the fragile peace of this remote hilltop, but he knew Felix would hear him anyway. Coming to a stop a little way behind him, they stared silently out into the dawn.

“I always think,” Dimitri told him, voice soft, “That the water looks like fabric from this high up.”

Felix did not reply. He just sat.

Eventually he shifted minutely. “Don’t just stand there,” he said.

Usually there would be an insult there, with edges to cut into the skin. Dimitri sat down beside him, silently. His leg rested just beside Felix’s, close enough for them to brush up against each other. They did not.

“I was trying to remember what all the types of birds are,” Felix said, after a long moment.

Below them, the gulls wheeled and screamed around the cliff.

“Oystercatchers,” Dimitri said, pointing down to the flat stretch of sand far below, and the tiny birds that were no more than specks. “And cormorants out there, on the rocks.” He hesitated. “A tern, I think, out there fishing.”

Felix grunted. “A tern,” he repeated.

He paused, then continued, tentative. “Those were his favourite, I think.”

Felix’s hair shielded his face, and Dimitri could not guess at his expression. “He always tried to teach me,” Felix said, “But I had no patience for it.”

“You did once,” Dimitri objected. “You used to tell me the names, you know, when I visited.”

The hair slapped at Felix’s face in the wind, and he pushed it away impatiently. His face was fixed, harsh, staring blankly ahead. “I know. But.” The line of his mouth tightened. “I forgot them, I suppose.”

Cautiously, Dimitri leaned his shoulder into Felix’s. He felt his muscles tense, then relax again. He did not move away. Smiling to himself, Dimitri let himself revel in the warmth of it. Gradually, Felix softened next to him, his knees dropping and hunched shoulders loosening. He sighed, a warm gust of breath whisked away by the wind.

“Would you—” Dimitri began, then cleared his throat. “Would you rather I left?”

Felix looked at him, finally, brown eyes suddenly cool. “If I wanted you to leave,” he said, “I would tell you.”

> According to you _many have_
> 
> _had the ashes of lovers strewn here,_  
>  _on this beach_ on this water that now beats at,
> 
> now seems to want to just rest alongside.  
>  _The dead can’t know we miss them_ Presumably
> 
> we were walking _that we are walking_  
>  _upon them._

Felix’s stare was an intense thing—Dimitri had known that for years—but now it was something alive, electric, consuming.

“All right,” Dimitri said, and tentatively reached one hand out to rest lightly against Felix’s leg.

The stare turned to his hand, and suddenly Dimitri could breathe again. Then their fingers were twisting together, palm to palm, Felix’s grip tight.

He was looking out at the sea again, now. Dimitri was glad Felix could not see his face.

“You know,” Felix said, “You have as much right to mourn him as I do.”

The response caught in his throat, but Dimitri pushed it out. “No. Felix, I don’t, he was your—”

The stare was on him again, and Dimitri broke off. “He was your father,” he finished quietly.

“Yes,” Felix said, voice unyielding. “But he loved you like a son anyway.”

Dimitri swallowed, hard. “He loved you. You know that.”

“I know,” he replied, but he turned away again. “But still. You’re the one who remembers the names of the birds.”

There was nothing to say to that. Dimitri just squeezed Felix’s hand in his, felt the warmth and the slow thump of his pulse.

In the distance, the tern dived into the water, fast and graceful. The heads of the cormorants disappeared between waves, then reappeared, specks of iridescent black-green-blue feathers in the glints of the dark water. The oystercatchers shrieked, small sharp bursts that blended together. And above it all, the gulls called. The sun was up fully now, and the grey sky had turned to the uncertain blue of a spring day that hadn’t decided whether or not to rain. Dimitri reached his free hand up, and twined his fingers through Felix’s hair.

“Do you remember,” he began, then paused.

“What?” Felix prompted.

Dimitri sighed. “When we were young, you used to ask me to tie your hair up for you.”

There was silence, and the wind whipped Felix’s hair out of his hand. He let it fall

“I remember,” Felix said, and dropped Dimitri’s hand to rub chilled fingers on his thighs, frowning against the wind.

Dimitri unclasped his cloak and lifted the heavy fur. “Here,” he said, reaching out an arm. “Will you—will you come closer?”

Without looking at him, Felix shifted closer, until their hips were pressed together. Dimitri twisted, letting his shoulders slide behind Felix’s, so they rested neatly together, then wrapped the free side of the cloak securely around Felix’s shoulders.

“Is this ok?” he whispered as his chin brushed up against Felix’s shoulder, hair blowing against his cheek.

Felix shifted again, but into Dimitri. His back rested against Dimitri’s chest now. “Yes,” he muttered.

“We can go back,” Dimitri said, voice still soft.

“No,” Felix said, and picked Dimitri’s hand up again. This time, it was a careful motion, their fingers sliding to mesh together, curling carefully into each other.

“No,” he repeated. “Not yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason From the Devotions appears to be almost nowhere online, but if you have JSTOR access you can read it [here](https://www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/23007625.pdf).


End file.
